So Many Pains in Harry's... Arm
To the surprise of everyone in Slytherin, Lockhart apparently learned his lesson. After the pixies, the idiotic professor had turned to reading his books aloud, and, on occasion, recruiting members of the class to help him reenact them.
It was after the first time he made Harry pretend to be a howling, mad werewolf, that Harry bribed Marcus into teaching him the notice-me-not charm, which he used every class to... well, read the textbooks. He had taken to creating a timeline of all of the Lockhart books put together, and questions to research in local papers for each event.
He was going to find out the truth about that farce of a professor, even if it meant failing that sham of a class.
Hermione, and, a bit surprisingly, Millie, were all for researching with him, though they only helped outside of class.
Millie was especially good at being patient enough to sift through the backdated Daily Prophets and other papers, comparing headlines to dates and societal happenings that Hermione and Harry just didn’t pick up on.
Their usual setup ended up being Hermione working on the book timeline, passing dates to Millie for her to cross-reference in newspapers.
Harry, however, had taken to meditating on the floor next to their table, working on his rudimentary occlumency (and his patience).
The threat of the Chamber of Secrets was always looming in the back of the student body’s collective mind. But no one seemed willing to let that stop them from enjoying their year.
At least, not yet.
Most of the conversations surrounding the new mystery of the year seemed to happen in the Slytherin dorms in particular.
Many students, particularly the older ones, had used it as an excuse to start debating pureblood politics again.
The first time someone used the slur mudblood, Harry conjured a muggle spray bottle, filled it with water, and spritzed the seventh-year in the face.
The entire room froze.
Hermione bit back a laugh, even as Harry, expression stern, began to talk.
Well… lecture.
“Blood matters. I will not refute that. Our families built this society, and there is a certain power, a pride in maintaining their names, their culture. But at least here, with us, let ability matter more. Judge based on merit, not because someone didn’t have the fortune of having mommy and daddy get them their every wizarding wish.”
Harry prowled around the room, staring at a few of the upper years with a scowl. “First gens were blessed with magic and chosen to come to Hogwarts. Our forefathers, including Salazar himself, made this place to unify our people. And you dishonor him like that? Why not bring them into our culture, and make our society stronger, instead of deepening the divide and driving them back to the muggles.”
Marcel Laerety, wiping the water from his face, sneered. “Of course you’d say that, Potter, all your little mudbloods fawn at your feet.”
Harry got right back in his face, not even needing the height to be worthy of everyone’s eyes. “If that’s what you think has been happening, Laerety, you haven’t been paying attention.” He turned to Hermione, a furious Ron at her shoulder. “The usual place? This room is a little too haughty for me right now.”
The three left, their friends glaring at the older students.
Marcus, in particular, watched Harry leave with an adoring older-brother-esque gaze, before turning to the other seventh-years with a loaded gaze. “You have a choice to make. Drown in the weight of your parents’ expectations, or realize that the Boy-Who-Lived, whether you like it or not, is going to be the leader of our generation. How do you think the next few decades are going to play out?”
He led the rest of Harry’s friends out of the common room, all of them sneering at anyone still watching them.
Pansy, however, was grinning as she pulled her wand, conjuring a blackboard. Theo stayed back to watch as she wrote Days Since Last M-Word Incident with a large 0 underneath.
Anyone who wasn’t fully Dark started snickering as the bricks closed behind them.
Harry had finally gotten back into following the CoMC class into the forest, especially on days when he didn’t have actual quidditch practice (he was way too excited that he was officially on the team, after training with Marcus and Terry for the entire year before).
His favorite thing that had happened in the forest, so far, was finding a nest of bowtruckles in a newly sprouting tree just to the side of the main clearing.
The creatures were sweet, curious, and every time he visited, they would use him as another tree. One in particular began tucking itself into spots on his robes, even his hair. It was smaller than the rest, and wasn’t quite as sure in its movements, but was apparently the best at moving without Harry noticing.
The third time he had left the nest, a handful of woodlice skittering around the tree for them to chase, he had gotten all the way back to the Nook before he felt his hair moving.
Anthony happened to be there, and watched him freeze in the middle of the room with furrowed brows.
“Hadrian, you good?”
Harry lifted a hand to his hair. “Do you see something moving?”
The Ravenclaw stood and crept closer, staring intently. A moment later, he burst into laughter.
“Only you, Hadrian. Only you.” He reached up, shaking his head as he gently pulled.
A moment later, a bowtruckle was being placed in his hands, and Harry sighed loudly as he watched the slow movements of the small creature scramble for a grip on his fingers.
“This little guy has been trying for days to steal away with me. Guess he finally did it.”
Anthony shrugged when Harry looked back up at him. “He worked hard for it, might as well let him stay up here until you go back to the forest.”
Harry sighed again. “I’ll have to ask Silvanus or Hagrid for a jar of woodlice.”
“What are you going to call him?”
“Do I have to?”
“Might as well. You’re always the first to threaten to start a menagerie, Hadrian, you can’t blame the poor thing for wanting to join up.”
Harry paused, watching the small bowtruckle dangle from his hand, debating on dropping to the table below.
He sighed again, just as it fell and then tried to right itself, just to topple over the other way.
“Atticus. I’ll call him Atticus.”
“Hey, Hadrian, do you have any books on Goblins? Their culture, their business, things like that?” Justin looked harried, even with a near manic grin on his face as he scribbled into a book.
“Yeah, Ron’s brother Bill works for Gringotts and sent me a few of the better books about them. Why? Getting into creature lore?”
Justin waved his hand. “Well, I’m sure I told you, my parents are both accomplished business people in the muggle world. They raised me to be wary of anyone who has access to my money. And if I’m going to be the top financial officer for the Granger Coup, I’ll need to know how they operate.”
“...Justin, you know we’re twelve, right?”
“Never too early to start. I want to read up on dwarves, too, apparently they run a competing back in parts of Europe and Asia. Russia, Austria, places like that.”
Harry just patted Justin’s shoulder and left him to his notes.
Harry was vibrating again.
This time, however, it was echoed by the majority of the students in the school, even with the looming clouds in the Great Hall.
It was the second match of the year.
Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
The twins had already jokingly tried to bribe Harry into getting mysteriously sick that morning, but not even the threat of pouring rain was enough to deter Harry from following Marcus to the field just after breakfast.
Marcus, who had an unusually prominent frown.
“Still fighting with Oliver?” Harry whispered as they led the team, and most of the school, down from the castle.
The older boy rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. We’re going to Three Broomsticks for drinks after the game, he’s just a little more amped than usual because his da’s trying to get a professional recruiter to see a game this year.”
“He doesn’t graduate until next year, though, yeah?”
“Yeah. But sometimes, if you’re decent enough, they’ll let you do some odd weekends training with the team before you officially start. Oliver’s trying to see if Puddlemere will let him at least let him go to summer training.”
Harry patted his friend’s arm. “I’m sure it’s not easy for you, either, having to juggle your house pride for your boyfriend’s future.”
“It’s fine. Oliver would be more pissed if I told the team to go easy on them so he could look good.”
They lined up to get into the Slytherin locker rooms, pulling on their sleek uniforms. Marcus didn’t even bother with a real peptalk, just sent around a heating charm on each player.
“Let’s make it quick, boys, I have a date after this.”
The team laughed and filed out, prepping to start the game.
Gryffindor was only a minute behind them, the twins winking at Harry and nodding at Marcus, McLaggen sneering at the whole team, Oliver staring determinedly ahead.
The girls were too busy whispering to each other.
Lee’s voice echoed around the stadium, and as they were introduced, they straddled their brooms and began to fly onto the field.
Hooch gave her usual fair play speech, and the whistle blew.
The game was on.
It was only about ten minutes into the match that Harry realized something was wrong.
He was a bit apart from the main field of play, watching for any sign of the snitch.
George had aimed a bludger at him, which he dodged easily.
He blinked at it, confused, when it spun around and flew back towards him without getting anywhere near another beater’s bat.
He dodged again, moving back towards the bulk of the players.
The bludger sounded like someone screaming as it went past him, Harry stopping his broom short to avoid the front half of the stick breaking from an impact.
He started to pick up speed, and began feeling the soft pelt of raindrops as he twisted to see the same bludger following him again.
He aimed for the center of the field, trying to gain cover in the menacing forms of the Slytherin beaters.
He felt the wind, the shift of rain, as he ducked just in time for the bludger to streak past his hair.
Bole pulled up next to him as Derrick hovered a few yards above him. “Alright, Potter?”
“Do they usually target one player? Marcus never mentioned that.” He panted as he watched the ball turn in midair and head back towards them. He saw George throw his hands up in confusion just out of reach.
Lucian shook his head. “We’ll keep an eye on it, if it doesn’t quit in the next few minutes, we’ll get Marcus to call time. Watch your head, kid, yeah?”
Harry shrugged and took off, spiraling up to get a better vantage point above the plays.
Not even a second later, he heard the whizzing and fell into a dive, Fred falling beside him.
“Derrick is getting Marcus, pull out and head towards them!”
Harry nodded and pulled up, using his momentum to throw himself upside down just as the bludger screamed past the space he was just in. He was still trying to catch his breath when Hooch called for the time out and he came to a stop beside the captain.
Peregrin was there already, hissing under his breath. “We can’t protect the rest of the team and Hadrian at the same time. And we won’t be worth shit if we end up having to split.”
“Not to mention, I can’t do my job if either of you two are hovering in my field of view. I can’t see the snitch with you two playing cricket on either side of me.”
No one got Harry’s frustrated attempt for a joke, but they were used to that.
“Who could be jinxing the thing?” Marcus turned to Harry. “No way the twins let someone in Gryffindor do something so reckless towards you.” The whole team twisted to see both Weasleys arguing with Hooch on the ground halfway down the field.
Harry spat, barely seeing its trajectory with the rain that had started falling harder. “It’s probably that damned elf.” He looked towards the scoreboard, where Slytherin was trailing by three goals. “Look, there’s no way they’ll be able to fix it, not with my luck. I’ll disrupt the Gryffindor plays with the thing, try and get us caught up.”
No one looked happy.
Marcus moved closer, reaching for Harry’s shoulder as he pulled out his wand and cast a quick impervious on Harry’s glasses. “Get that snitch as fast as you can. We’ll figure it out after the game. Just… I’ll be pissed if I have to drag you to the hospital wing, okay?”
“It’s not like I usually have much of a choice in that, but sure.” Harry rolled his eyes and nodded over towards the twins, gesturing with a let’s go motion.
They didn’t look happy, either.
A few minutes later, they were all back in the air.
Harry immediately shot forward, a bludger following him as he wove through the entire Gryffindor team, ignoring the girls’ shouts as he went.
Just as the whistling sound behind him grew almost too loud, he turned on a dime and started to spiral upwards again, squeezing as much agility out of his Nimbus 2001 as possible as he scanned the field for any glint of gold.
The bludger was on his tail again, and he sped for the Gryffindor goalposts, weaving through the circles just as Pucey threw past a panicking Oliver.
It was too close. Approaching the final goal post, Harry stood slightly on the foot pegs of his broom, reaching out with a hand to grab the slick metal of the goal and spinning around it to start the other direction, like a rollercoaster coming around a sharp corner.
He was the only one who didn’t see how close he was to the unforgiving cement of the posts themselves, not even half an inch from ramming into the concrete at top speed.
The bludger kept going, too heavy to change directions that easily.
He started back towards the center of the field, whizzing past Katie Bell, causing her to shriek and pull away, dropping the quaffle into Warrington’s arms.
Just as he began to hear the sound of the approaching bludger, Harry noticed the laughing form of Cormac McLaggen off to the side of center field.
He also noticed the subtle glint just beyond the opposing seeker.
With a laugh of his own, Harry dove, the bludger skimming the tail of his broom enough to cause push him upside down.
He just kept flying, hugging the broom as the rain fell. He didn’t right himself until the bludger was on his trail again, and he flipped to streak straight towards McLaggen.
McLaggen, who instantly gave a high-pitched scream and dove out of the way.
The snitch followed.
So did Harry.
So did the bludger.
The snitch switched directions, and Harry swung around as well.
It took him half a second too long.
It was almost as if it was in slow motion.
He hadn’t moved forward yet, suspended in the air as he turned the broom just so.
The bludger rammed into his arm, right at the elbow.
His arm crunched into his side, pain blooming.
He was too familiar with the feeling of a bone breaking, and this was no different.
The probable bruising on his ribcage wasn’t, either.
Harry bit back a scream and zoomed forward again, not even blinking at the shout of McLaggen behind him, who had apparently realized he had spotted the snitch.
He tucked his arm against his side, standing on the pegs again as the snitch glittered beneath him and he threw himself into a dive.
He shifted, one foot moving up to try and balance the broom like a skateboard, his uninjured arm coming up to claw desperately at the snitch.
The feeling of cold mud under his body as he slammed into the ground was almost a relief, his broken arm awkwardly tucked between him and the grass.
He pushed himself up just long enough to throw his clenched fist in the air, the slow flutter of wings visible from between his fingers.
The stadium erupted.
He fell forward, crying out in pain when he was unable to catch himself, and he faceplanted into the mud again just as he heard the thuds of other players landing nearby.
Fred was the first to his side, gently turning him over and in a more seated position as the crowds streamed from the stands and onto the field.
His glasses were fogged over, splattered with mud, too dirty to see his friends running towards him, only to be stopped by a few professors.
It didn’t stop them for long.
One professor, however, was heading his way with a determined expression and a glinting smile, wand in the air with an umbrella charm to fend off the rain.
Masses of students, cheering Slytherins and mourning Gryffindors, a smattering of quidditch happy students from the other houses, were close behind.
He could distantly hear Marcus arguing with Oliver and Hooch over the bludger currently twitching in the official gear box.
Fred was murmuring soothing words into his ear, using his wand to try and clean the mud from his robes and hair.
His glasses were clean just in time to see the shadow of Lockhart fall over him.
“Absolutely not.”
“Not to worry, Harry, I’ll fix your arm in just a moment. I’ve cast it hundreds of times-”
“Aim your wand at me and you will hear from my lawyer. That didn’t end so well for you last time, do you really want to meet him again?” Harry sneered as he tried to ignore the fire in his arm, his shoulder, his ribs.
Lockhart laughed, looking at the crowd around them with no worry in his eyes. “Harry, my boy, I’m just trying to help!”
“Don’t call me boy.” Harry leaned up, glaring at the man. Anger flooded through him, replacing any lingering pain or fear, and the lack of green robes in his vicinity didn’t help matters. George was moving away, yelling for Marcus, while Fred was trying to pull Harry up and away from the professor. Each movement shocked his arm, even with the years he spent used to pain.
“Just a few seconds and I’ll have you good to go,” Lockhart stated, winking at a worried girl in the crowd and pulling out his wand with the air of a grand performance.
“I am expressly telling you not to do this.” Harry tried to stand but a sudden flood of pain kept him down. And, unfortunately, in Lockhart’s range.
Feeling the bones in his arm disappear was the strangest sensation he had ever experienced. As he lost all feeling, his hand flailing on the ground beside him, there was a flurry of anger and frustration in his stomach.
The only thing that kept him from either punching the professor with his good arm or breaking down into tears was the unadulterated anger on Marcus’s face as he cleared the crowd and saw what was happening.
Harry gave him a dead look. “Write your da for me? And Aunt Andi? I have a feeling I’ll be indisposed in the Hospital Wing for the night.”
“No, Weasley, Granger, you can’t come in. I cannot believe you weren’t brought to me immediately. Broken arms, even shattered like yours? I can fix in a jiffy, an hour at most. But completely regrowing the arm? You’re in for the night, Mr. Potter. Your usual bed, go on.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I appreciate your attention, Madam Pomfrey. I, too, wish I had been brought to you before being left to the… knowledge of that man. I’m simply glad he didn’t realize my ribs were injured, as well. But I don’t think a few harmless visits last year warrant having a usual bed.”
The matron shot him a glare, one bereft of actual anger, and more just a resigned fate. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Mr. Potter, or you won’t be getting Dreamless Sleep tonight and I’ll leave you to the pain.”
He gave a gasp. “Poppy, you wouldn’t.”
“Bed, Mr. Potter.”
Harry, unfortunately, was already used to waking up in the Hospital Wing. The smell of antiseptic was almost as calming as Hedwig’s chirps, and he barely jolted when a loud noise woke him in the middle of the night.
The fact that the sound was an echo of the one that ended in him being locked in his room for a week with little food and no hope was what made him jolt awake, eyes wide as he searched for a house elf in the room.
He hadn’t even twisted his head when he met the giant eyes of Dobby.
“What could you possibly want,” he hissed, sitting up and gingerly curling around his still-healing arm.
The elf shifted, a mix of guilt and righteousness. “Dobby warned Harry Potter not to come back to school.”
Harry leaned forward with a sneer. “I got the message. You tried to keep me at the Dursleys, you tried to block me from the station, you made the thestral flip out. I can only assume you had something to do with the bludger. It’s too late, I’m at school. Leave me alone.”
Dobby twisted one of his long ears. “But if Harry Potter was injured, sent home…”
“Whatever this is, I’m sure it would still be happening without me here.”
“But Harry Potter would be safe, sir. Dobby remembers how it was before Harry Potter triumphed over the Dark Lord. We house-elves were treated like vermin! But Harry Potter is a beacon of hope! But Dobby cannot let history repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more-”
Harry leaned forward. “And you can’t tell me anything about it? Not even who your family is, or who’s doing it?”
Dobby flung himself at the water jug next to Harry’s bed. Harry nearly fell out of his bed catching it before Dobby could begin hitting himself in the head with it, hands already covered in bloodied bandages. “Dobby, stop. I’ll stop asking you, if you really can’t tell me anything. But you have to stop. Stop hurting yourself to try and save me. I’m not going anywhere. I have friends who are first gens, and I will not leave them to suffer and possibly die so I can be safe in the muggle world, which, for me, is a contradiction for the ages.”
“Harry Potter is so valiant! Risking his life for his friends, to save Dobby!” The house-elf started to sob, using his massive pillowcase shirt to wipe at his wide eyes.
Harry rolled his eyes. But before he could rebuke Dobby’s claims, or try and console him, there were footsteps echoing down the hallway outside.
The two of them froze and locked eyes.
Harry moved first. “Dobby, go.”
The elf nodded fervently, ears flopping, and disappeared with a crack.
Harry threw himself back down, angling himself slightly towards the door, cursing the fact that he couldn’t get corrective surgery on his eyes until his magic had settled, at least a decade away.
His ears, however, worked fine.
“I’ll get Poppy.” McGonagall shuffled past the end of Harry’s bed, tartan night robe rustling.
A few minutes later, Pomfrey was standing next to a bed on the opposite side of the room. “What happened, Albus?”
“Another attack. Minerva found him on the stairs, with a few snacks. It seems Mr. Creevey was sneaking up to see our Mr. Potter.”
Harry had to fight to keep his jaw from clenching. Further proof that hero worship does no one any good.
A strange noise followed, like steam from a faulty car engine.
“Oh, his camera… Albus, what is happening? Who is doing this?” McGonagall sounded close to tears.
Dumbledore sighed, and Harry swore he could feel the weight of the headmaster’s gaze from across the dormitory. “The question is not who, Minerva, but how. I fear our school has another mystery underfoot this year, one that may end with even more students in danger.”
A few minutes later, Colin was sequestered away behind a cloth screen, and the professors were gone.
Harry sat up slowly, anger beginning to pump with his rising blood. An eleven year old is petrified, and yet he is trying to play it off as some fun game for me to solve again. Harry shook his head, laying back down. He’s going to get someone killed, and if it is one of my people, Albus Dumbledore will never recover from it, no matter who’s really at fault.
The next morning saw Ron sitting at the edge of Harry’s bed, dumping an agitated Atticus into Harry's hands, waiting for Pomfrey to release him for breakfast. “You’ve barely talked to the kid, mate. He hasn’t even made it to First Blood Club. I’m not saying it isn’t maddening that he got hurt, but you’re a bit more mad than I thought you’d be.”
Harry threw up his hands, words sharp even at a whisper. “It’s terror culture all over again, Ron. You start threatening the ones who can’t protect themselves, who no one will stand up for. The tosser isn’t even corporeal yet but somehow the Blood War is starting again. Not to mention, who’s to say that Hermione won’t be next? Or Justin? Or Dean? A threat within this school is a threat to me and mine, and I won’t let it stand.”
Ron just watched him for a second. “This is why people think you’re going to start another faction, you know.”
Harry sighed, eyes set on something in the distance. “I may not have a choice, not anymore.”
“Flick wrote again?”
“...Yeah. Her da’s on her about finding some proper pureblood husband. Not that she’d be able to stop him from pressuring her if he knew she was joining the Grey, but I guess she’d feel better. She’s trying to scope how the general public would feel about it, but with the Dark still working from behind the scenes, it’s hard.”
“Has your aunt agreed to be your proxy yet?”
Harry made a noncommittal noise. “She wants to agree, but she also wants to sit down and talk things through. Especially with Gerard’s discovery that Sirius never had an official trial. She wants to come up with a long term plan for things.”
“That’s good though, yeah?”
“Yes, but at some point we need to stop planning and start acting. Especially if our head of House is wrongfully in Azkaban.”
“That’s dangerous for whoever’s fault it is. I’m not fully sure, but if someone intentionally sent the heir of the House, the last son of the mainline, they could have all sorts of charges brought up, including line theft.”
Harry shook his head. “That’s a problem for another day. Or, preferably, the adults. Right now I have to focus on this elf, and the Chamber. And fixing whatever bug has crawled up Draco’s ass since last year.”
Ron burst into laughter.
“How’re things on the outside?”
“You don’t have to act like you’re in prison, mate. You’ve been here maybe fifteen hours.”
“Still. I’m sure Pansy has been keeping an ear out for everything and anything, and since I’m in here, and Hermione can’t stand gossip, that leaves you.”
Ron sighed, pulling his legs up to stretch along Harry’s bed. “Well, opinion of Lockhart’s turning from awe to hilarity. Most people are pissed that he didn’t just take you here to begin with. Even his fangirls are having trouble coming up with a reason why he miffed what should have been a simple spell for someone of his supposed caliber.”
“Good. If public opinion here shifts, that’s more important than the adults. What about Colin?”
“People are scared, mostly. Like you said, terror culture. Some of the younger idiots, like Blaise, are trying to use the heir thing to scare other houses even more. Upper Slytherins are trying to play it off like we know what’s going on, just to save face. But even Farley’s terrified when the bricks close.”
“Oh, she’s a half-blood, isn’t she.”
“Yeah. The twins say that Cormac is pulling shit, swearing it’s you, that Voldie skewed your senses when you beat him, and that’s why you’re in Slytherin, that you’re picking up where he left off.”
Harry groaned. “Of course. Are they behaving?”
“For now. But George had a smile that, based on my own experience with them, means they’re planning something. Between this and the slug incident, they aren’t too happy with their seeker.”
“And when it’s George with that look, you know they’re serious.”
“Yep.” Ron sat up when the door to the matron’s office opened. “No telling who all is actually listening to McLaggen, though. Everyone’s keeping tabs in their own Houses, if only to keep Pansy happy.”
Harry gave a smile towards the approaching Pomfrey, even as his voice was laced with apprehension. “These next few weeks aren’t going to be fun.”
Harry doubted that it would be the last time he considered Draco Malfoy an enigma.
It seemed like every other day, the blond couldn’t decide if he was supporting Harry, or joining Blaise Zabini in trying to tear him down at a moment’s notice.
Harry expected, once Cormac McLaggen of all people started the rumors that Harry was the one behind the graffiti on the wall, that Draco would take the turmoil it would cause and use it to his own advantage.
Needless to say he almost ran into a wall when he walked into the common room, just after being released from the hospital wing, only to have someone sneer and call him the Heir of Slytherin.
Well, that he was used to. It was what happened next.
It made sense, in retrospect, that Draco laughed the hardest at the claim.
Draco, who had learned of everyone’s heritage his whole life.
But to hear him actually defend Harry, in front of him, no less…
Well, maybe Narcissa had more influence over his cousin than he thought.
“He’s a Potter, a direct descendant of the Peverells, who were even thought to have married into the Gryffindor line through a wayward daughter. And at the time of the school’s founding his family was in India. But sure, he’s Slytherin’s Heir.”
Some fourth year rolled his eyes. “He’s also Heir Black, as you well know, a title which should have been yours by blood, and yet.”
Draco scoffed. “And? The last potential heir to Slytherin was the Dark Lord himself. Are you insinuating that while attempting to kill an 18 month old, he bequeathed Potter the mantle? Don’t be an idiot, Montague.”
“Why are you suddenly defending him, Draco?” Blaise drawled from nearby. “You’ve been at each other’s throats since that day in the Alley, but now you’re rolling over and letting him walk all over you?”
Draco sneered, even as he blushed. “He’s the heir to my house, as we just discussed, Zabini. Family may be a foreign concept to you, but it’s rather important to those of us who have one.”
Montague had to physically drag Blaise out of the room before the boy pulled his wand on the blonde.
Ron, in the corner of the room, didn’t seem far off from pulling his own, even with Hermione whispering in his ear.
Harry watched with a frown, before he sidled up to a clearly worried Pansy. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”
She rolled her eyes. “Draco’s getting conflicting orders. His mother, of course, wants him to be a bit vocal about supporting you as heir to House Black. Lord Malfoy, however, wants him to use the unrest to leverage more power in Slytherin. Draco has no idea what to do, and he’s trying to walk a rather thin line.”
“And Blaise?”
She sighed. “I honestly don’t think Blaise cares about the politics of it all. His mother has enough influence in Italy that he could disappear to Europe after we graduate and be almost as powerful as you are here. What do you know of Countess Zabini?”
“Next to nothing. Something about her having a suspicious number of husbands?”
“Yeah. Not that anyone can prove it, not that anyone would try, but she’s a black widow. She finds rich men that have questionable backgrounds, marries them, and then sometime later they mysteriously die, leaving her even richer and single again. The last stepfather died just before school.” She leaned a bit closer, lowering her voice. “I think Blaise actually liked this one, and is taking it hard. And in true Italian fashion, when he’s hurt, he tends to hurt others.”
Harry pursed his lips. “Damn. That can’t have been easy.”
Pansy flicked his shoulder. “Don’t go on some pity spree, Hadrian. He may not care about British politics, but that’s what makes him so dangerous to what you’re trying to build.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pansy, the only thing I’m trying to build is my class rank.”
She rolled her eyes again, pushing him away from her. “I’m going to go check on Draco. Find another babysitter, would you?”
Harry scoffed and let her shove him off. “Actually, I’m off to be the babysitter, thanks. Ron wouldn’t have taken that conversation too well, and Hermione won’t say anything unless I make her.”
“They just left, probably for the Nook.” Pansy eyed him. “You know it’s weird that the first-gen has a better grasp on the intricacies of our political system than a pureblood who was raised in it?”
“Yeah. That’s why she’ll be the one running things.” Harry winked and headed back towards the bricks.
He went quickly, using the few hidden passages they’d found so far, dodging the majority of students who might try to slow him down.
When he was finally catching his breath beside a snickering Ozzy, he could already hear the agitated argument of his two best friends.
He ducked through the door, nodding towards the few other Heralds there (the name was unanimous, and Anthony was even joking about getting Daphne’s mother, a cousin of his, to make them matching jackets), just as Ron threw his bag on the couch.
“How can you even rationalize that, Hermione? I’m not even talking about Malfoy, I’m talking about the purebloods only see Harry as worth something because they think they can take advantage of his ignorance.”
Harry took a breath, leaning against the wall. “It was the way they were raised, Ron. They don’t know any better, and it will take time. We can’t expect them to magically change their opinions, just like we don’t expect you to magically change yours.”
Ron’s head whipped around. “You’re going to defend them? When they’re either spitting on you because of your parents, or trying to get you on their side because they think you actually are the heir?”
“I’m not defending them. You know I’ll be the first to fight back whenever the moment calls for it. But I’m just saying, not all of them can be Pansy or Theo, and change their beliefs instantly just because they’re faced with another option.”
“Why not? And don’t think I’m not pissed at McLaggen, too, for starting this shit.” Ron’s jaw worked as he stalked across the room, ending up at the window.
Harry sighed and turned to Hermione behind their friend’s back, gesturing towards Ron. She grimaced and held out a fist. He narrowed his eyes and nodded, putting up a fist of his own, and they counted down.
No one noticed (well, they may have noticed but no one but Justin and Anthony understood) when Harry threw his fist up in the air in triumph as Hermione stared at the v of her fingers in betrayal.
“Paper, scissors, stone always works,” he whispered to her as he pushed off the wall and sat next to Justin, reading over his shoulder at a book on the tenuous brotherhood between dwarves and goblins.
Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to the fuming redhead, not bothering to move from her seat as she called across the room. “Ron, look. I agree that the things the Death Eaters have done is horrifying. Especially since they tend to focus on people who have a similar… history to me. But I also understand the kind of thinking most of them are going through, especially the kids that have never known anything else. They come to a school thinking the way they live is the right way, the best way, only to find that the majority of the kids and quite a few adults at Hogwarts will hate them for it. So it’s either be hated by students, or risk being hated by their own blood.”
She paused, waiting for Ron to turn to her, eyes wet. She gave him a sad smile, and patted the chair next to her. He started over and she continued. “They spend years on the outside, outcast, not trusted, barely acknowledged for anything other than the green of their robes. And then suddenly there’s this powerful man, with something not unsimilar to a family, claiming that he can restore the power they thought was rightfully theirs. Of course they’re going to say yes. And by the time they realize how wrong it is, it was too late for them to back out. That’s why giving them another option, one that didn’t isolate them their entire lives, is so important. That’s why Flick and Avery are so dedicated to helping Harry rebuild the Grey.”
“How do you know so much about this?” His voice was low and soft, but still ragged from yelling.
Hermione scoffed. “You think muggles don’t have gangs? They might not be as extreme as the Death Eaters, without magic, but you should hear some of the horror stories Anthony’s cousin in America has about the gangs in New York. It’s just poor muggles trying to make a name for themselves instead of rich wixen trying to keep theirs.”
Ron turned to where Anthony was watching the exchange with curious eyes.
The Ravenclaw nodded. “Rolf, of course, isn’t involved in anything. But the newspapers have a new horror story every day. It is ironic that in the muggle world, it’s those with nothing that cling to manufactured families like that, while in our world, it’s the richest of the rich. The concept remains the same, though. Someone promising to ease the way, to give them something to be proud of. They can’t say no.”
“And I’m just supposed to be okay with that? That they do it because it gives them something to believe in? The rest of us have to fight for that, too.”
Anthony shrugged. “The rest of us have things to believe in. The Light believes in Dumbledore, or the good of humanity in general. The Dark trust that their way of life will remain true, whether because of their power or for the Dark Lord’s return. Those of us in the middle…” He trailed off, eyes flickering over to where Harry and Justin were ignoring the proceedings, three more books open around them as they debated dwarf culture in the wixen world. “Those of us in the middle have to wait a few years, but we have something to believe in, and I’m quite sure it’s something worth the trouble.”
Hermione gave him a smile as she nudged Ron’s shoulder with her own. “Anyone who’s worth anything will see the same thing in a few years. Those who don’t, well… We’ll figure out how to deal with that when the moment comes.”
Ron bit his lip. “I don’t like pinning all of this on him.”
“Neither do we. But he’s preparing for it. And we’ll take as much off of his shoulders as we can.”
Anthony grinned. “Delegation. Padma can run his enterprises in India, Hermione will run Britain, I’ll get Rolf to help me expand whatever businesses he has in America.”
Padma finally tuned in at her name, putting down the magazine she must have borrowed from her sister. “Are we expanding the plan to taking over the world, now?”
They all laughed, and Hermione waved Harry off when he looked up with a furrowed brow.
“Might as well. Only way to change the world is to take it over, after all.” Anthony gave Padma a wink.
She whacked his forehead with her magazine. “When do we get to meet Rolf, anyways? Hadrian could write a book with how many letters they’ve exchanged. Apparently Rolf’s grandfather has that three-headed dog from last year, and Hadrian is trying to coordinate a research project.”
“Uncle Newt is trying to convince Rolf’s mother to let him transfer, but she wants him to at least get a few years at Ilvermorny under his belt first. He’s only a first year, after all.” He eyed her with a grin. "You never answered. You willing to head up the Herald Initiative in India?"
Padma gave a noncommittal noise and opened the magazine back to a beautiful sari. “I expect quite a salary. I’ve got plans of my own, after all.”